


Aftermath

by mia_ametista



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Spoilers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, and mostly everyone gets one, dead characters stay dead, everyone deserves a hug, me trying to cope with Endgame, might be ignoring one or two canon plot points though, more characters being added as I go, not happy ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-07-31 09:24:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20112841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mia_ametista/pseuds/mia_ametista
Summary: Between the end of the battle and the funeral, the remaining Avengers are trying to figure out how to move on with what's left of their lives.A collection of (rather short) one-shots; scenes that might or might not have happened in the aftermath of the final battle. Spoilers for Avengers: Endgame (obviously).





	1. Dust

**Author's Note:**

> This is going to be a collection of just snippets, I guess. I'm not entirely sure yet how many there'll be, I guess it depends on the characters I'll randomly get inspiration for. Hopefully there'll be quite a couple of them. Also, please excuse any unnecessarily added commas; I'm German.

When it was over, it was over. All of it. Everything.

The dust had barely cleared the battlefield, the ruins of what had been, just a few hours ago, the Avengers headquarter. They could build a new one, maybe in a couple of weeks or months. They could replace all the tech, the furniture, the gadgets, maybe even install a new AI. But as Steve knelt there, feeling sharp rocks pressing into his knees through the tights of his suit, simultaneously feeling nothing at all, it hit him with an almost suffocating certainty that it wouldn’t ever be the same again.

He couldn’t really do much but stare blankly at the space where people were starting to swarm around Tony’s lifeless body now. Where Peter was crouched next to him, sobbing uncontrollably like a child he had barely grown out of being anyway. Where Pepper was still cupping Tony’s burnt face with her hands, silent tears painting trails into the dirt on her cheeks.  
Steve felt like everything around him was muffled, like it was happening behind thick curtains, but at the same time it was just too damn loud. Pounding and scratching in his ears like a badly adjusted radio. Only half an hour ago every single person who had arrived had made Steve’s heart soar with another spark of hope until it had been a flaming beacon again; every face that had looked at him with burning determination had felt like a small victory already. Now there were just too many of them. Talking. Crying. Shouting. Steve could hear all of it, swirling around his head, and it was just too much to bear.

Getting up on his feet felt like the hardest thing he’d done in five years, but he couldn’t stand to just kneel there any longer. Couldn’t bear another look at Tony’s limp body, his lifeless face. Stumbling off to the side he could feel the concerned looks, could hear some people calling to him, but he ignored all of them. An invisible string was pulling him away from the immediate center of attention, over to where he’d somehow known they would be standing: two familiar shapes close to each other, one of them stepping forward just the slightest bit. Steve’s clouded gaze met a pair of soft brown eyes, and just like that he took a couple of steps and collapsed into Bucky’s arms.  
He felt his hands on his back, one metal, one human, and then he felt another pair of arms wrapping around both of them as Sam pulled them close. And he closed his eyes, leaning his head against Sam’s shoulder, holding on to Bucky for dear life, letting the exhaustion and relief and unspeakable pain flood over him until the tears came and washed it away. For now.


	2. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I didn't know how you could handle it. How you could be so calm and put-together."  
Pepper gave a choked little laugh. "Oh honey," she whispered back. "I'm really not."

That night after the battle the other side of the bed was cold and empty.

Pepper was used to sleeping alone, and she was used to the thought, every time she’d gone to bed on her own, of Tony not coming back. But he had, he always had. If not that night or the next, then after a couple of days, even weeks, but he’d always come back eventually.  
But Tony was gone and wouldn’t be sleeping next to her ever again. And with that knowledge the cold suddenly felt a lot colder, the loneliness immensely lonelier, even with all these people around. Pepper half wished they’d just go away, but she’d offered a couple of the Avengers to stay, and most of them had agreed, probably hoping it would make them feel less lonely. Just like Pepper had.  
She had expected (or maybe hoped) Morgan would sleep with her tonight. But her girl had fallen asleep in her own bed, after demanding Happy brought her to bed like he’d done for most nights lately. Pepper had checked on them about an hour ago, finding Happy had fallen asleep next to Morgan; she’d felt a sharp, painful twinge of jealousness but hadn’t had the heart to wake either of them.

It had started to rain at some point over the last hour, drops steadily drumming on the windowpane, making it impossible for her to fall asleep. For a while she kept tossing and turning in her bed, trying not to scream over all those thoughts cluttering her head. Eventually she gave up and decided to get a glass of water from the kitchen.  
Shivering in the chilly air that crept through the window she’d cracked open before, Pepper wrapped her dressing gown around her tightly before she snuck out of the bedroom and down the stairs. The house, although no doubt being comfortably spacious, had always felt exactly the right size to her since she’d moved in here with Tony. Now, for the first time, it almost felt too big, despite all the people being in it right now. They were all sleeping – or more likely pretending to sleep – so the path to the kitchen was clear.  
Pepper stopped at the sink, leaning over it and closing her eyes for a moment. It felt entirely unreal, being back in her house after what had happened earlier. The pictures of the battle were still burning vividly in front of her eyes while at the same time they felt like a foggy memory from ages ago. Time and reality themselves seemed to be playing tricks on her… though it was more likely that it was just her own mind.

A small noise behind her made Pepper’s head jerk up at once, her whole body going into immediate alert mode. Heart pounding, she held her breath and listened into the night. At first it was only the rain she could hear, but after a second the noise returned, coming from somewhere outside. The porch, Pepper thought. She noticed her hands were shaking. _Stop being paranoid_, she told herself, slowly and cautiously walking over to peek out of the small window in the front door.  
Someone was sitting… not on the stairs but in front of them on the ground, wearing nothing but a thin gown, seemingly not noticing the rain that was pouring onto them. Pepper saw dark red hair and quickly opened the door. “Wanda?” she called quietly into the dark.  
Wanda startled at her voice, turning her head and looking at her with huge green eyes, like a deer caught in the headlight. She must have been soaking wet by now, her hair dangling everywhere in long wet streaks, dirt all over her hands, legs, and the night gown. Pepper didn’t even hesitate; ignoring that she was barefoot she stepped outside, crossing the porch with a few quick steps. “Sweetheart, come on inside, you must be freezing,” she said, and that was when Wanda started sobbing like that one sentence had broken every last bit of countenance she’d still had left. Shaking her head frantically she mouthed ‘no’ again and again over the hysterical, hitching little breaths, shivering and shaking, hands balled into tight fists. She’d only just lost her love as well, Pepper suddenly realized – because for Wanda it _had been_ yesterday. Only yesterday that she’d had to watch Vision die at her own hands, and then die again when Thanos had ripped the Mind Stone from his head. And she was just a girl, Pepper thought, just barely out of her teens. Never known anything but loss her whole life, but still not hardened to it, still overwhelmed with that raw pain Pepper herself knew all too well now.

Stepping down the stairs into the rain she knelt down besides Wanda and, without another word, wrapped her arms around her. For a split second Wanda tensed as if she wanted to struggle against the embrace, but then she just collapsed, trembling and sobbing violently against Pepper’s shoulder. It was only after a while Pepper realized that the water on her face wasn’t just the rain, but also her own tears that had begun to flow, steadily like the raindrops, while she held on to Wanda until both of them didn’t know whose sobs it were that were shaking them, and then some more until both their tears ran dry.

“I didn’t know how you could do it,” Wanda whispered after taking a deep and shaky breath, without letting go of Pepper. “How you could handle it. How you could be so… so calm and put-together and… you know.”  
Pepper gave a choked little laugh. “Oh honey. I’m not”, she whispered back. “I’m really not.” (And she wasn’t calm or put-together or currently handling it well. But at least she wasn’t alone.)  
After another moment she gently let go of Wanda and shifted away a little, one hand staying on her shoulder. “Do you think you’re okay to go back inside now?” she asked softly. “Get both of us cleaned up?”  
Wanda looked at her with big, wet eyes. The grief was still written all over her face, but there was also a tiny smile in the corners of her mouth, and then the smallest nod.

(Happy woke up about two hours later, feeling slightly guilty when he realized where he’d fallen asleep. He got up carefully and tiptoed over to Pepper’s bedroom where he found two women fast asleep in a tight embrace. Pepper’s arms were wrapped around Wanda, whose hand was tightly clutching Pepper’s wrist. Both faces bore traces of tears, but now they looked relaxed and peaceful. Happy smiled a sad little smile and quietly closed the door behind him.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do acknowledge the issues with just all of the Avengers camping out in Pepper's and Tony's cottage. Please bear with me on that one. It was convenient. I need the fluff. A lot of people need to get cuddled in this universe.


	3. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe he’ll come back,” he added, looking at Bruce again. “Somehow. Some day. You never know.”  
“And if he doesn’t?”  
“Then life goes on anyway.”

It was almost unsettling for Clint to look up and see Bruce walk into the room. Not Hulk. Just plain old, very tired-looking, disturbingly human Banner.

Clint watched as he scuffled over to one of the empty chairs and let himself drop onto it, causing a quick flicker of pain on his face. His skin had a slight greyish-green undertone, Clint noticed, or maybe that was just because he’d gotten so used to seeing Bruce in his Hulk form. The shirt he was wearing was obviously Tony’s, which made sense because he wouldn’t have had any clothes at hand to fit his human body, but it still made Clint’s stomach drop a little. His eyes flickered over to Bruce’s injured arm; somehow it looked even worse in its human shape. Hanging limply in its cast, skin burned black… even under all the bandages it looked more like dead meat than anything that would (or should) be attached to a living being.  
Clint met Bruce’s gaze and gave a crooked half-smile. “Dude, you look like shit.”  
Banner stared at him for a moment, then exhaled, shoulders dropping visibly, but he gave an almost-smile back. “Thanks, Barton. I hadn’t noticed.”

Clint watched sympathetically as he ran his healthy hand through his hair. It appeared to have grayed a good deal practically overnight. But that could also be a Hulk deception. “So, what’s the deal with the Big Guy?”  
Bruce gave an indistinct groan, staring blankly at some spot on the floor. “I have no idea.” Clint waited patiently until, after a moment of silence, he continued in a hoarse voice: “Must’ve passed out in the study last night. When I woke up, he was… gone. Just gone.” His voice trailed off. His eyes wandered slowly to his own, useless right hand in the cast. Then he looked up at Clint, who was watching him closely, and cleared his throat. And somehow Clint knew what he was about to say. “It’s going to have to be amputated.” He sounded dry, matter-of-factly, but the small grimace on his face wasn’t just physical pain from the mindless little shrug he uttered.  
Another moment of silence arose, during which Clint wondered if he should say something but then decided against it. Instead he leaned back in his chair to reach over to the shelf behind him and grab another glass. The bottle of scotch had already sat on the table; wordlessly Clint poured Bruce a drink, and wordlessly he took it and knocked it back almost violently. He closed his eyes for a second.  
“It might have healed. In Hulk form.”  
Clint shrugged. “It might have not, though.”  
A small, bitter laugh escaped Bruce. “Well, it definitely isn’t, now.”  
“There’s real good prosthetics these days, I hear. Maybe you could speak with Barnes about it…” Clint noticed Bruce’s hand that clutched his glass on the table trembling, and out of an impulse he extended his own hand to gently put it over Bruce’s wrist. “Hey, Bruce. I get it, okay?”

After all, it wasn’t about the arm. Not really.

A few seconds passed before Clint could feel Bruce relax a little and he let out a shaky little laugh. “Fuck,” he exclaimed and looked at Clint. “Fucking hell. Not enough that I miss Tasha and Tony like crazy…”  
Clint swallowed hard around the sudden lump in his throat. “I know, buddy.” He sighed, deep and almost desperate. “Maybe he’ll come back,” he then added, looking at Bruce again. “The Big Guy. Somehow. Some day. You never know.”  
“And if he doesn’t?”  
“Then life goes on anyway.”  
Bruce uttered something between a sigh, a sob, and a laugh. “Does it really, though?”  
Clint took a moment to empty his own glass. Then he smiled at Bruce. “I realize that, coming from me, this is, like, the worst piece of wisdom ever. But yeah. It does. It always does.”

Instead of an answer Bruce edged his now-empty glass over to him, and then Clint poured both of them another drink, and they sat and drank in shared silence.  
And life indeed went on. One way or another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized this is probably not going to be in chronological order, I apologize for any confusion. I also apologize for screwing with Hulk-Banner's arc here, but then again not really, because I couldn't reeeally relate to him. It's probably not entirely logical, for which I also apologize.


	4. Sketches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Stark is gone, and I just… I’m so lost, Captain Rogers, Sir. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.”  
Steve took a deep breath. “Honestly? Neither do I.”

“May I sit?”  
“Um…” Peter startled and quickly wiped his eyes and cheeks with his palms. He hadn’t _really_ been crying (he had done so much of that over the last day and a half that he wasn’t sure if there was any water left in his body) but apparently some stray tears had escaped his eyes without him even noticing. Slightly embarrassed he looked up to Steve Rogers who was, in turn, looking down on him with a questioning look. He wasn’t entirely sure how Steve had gotten up here; somehow he had assumed that the roof at 5 a.m. wouldn’t be a place anyone besides himself would care to visit. After all, everyone else seemed to have less trouble sleeping than he did. But of course it was Captain America he was looking at, so maybe he shouldn’t assume.  
Peter cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess… I mean, sure…”  
“I can find another spot if you’d prefer to be by yourself…”  
“No,” Peter said quickly, instinctively raising his hand as if to hold Steve back before shyly dropping it to his side. “No, uh… please stay. Sir,” he added.

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitched as he gingerly sat down next to Peter on the ridge of the roof. Peter could feel his eyes on him, but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to look back at him, and after a moment Steve’s gaze shifted. They sat next to each other in silence for a little while before Peter felt Steve stir next to him. Finally looking over he noticed, to his surprise, that Captain America had pulled out a drawing pad and pencil. He wasn’t looking at Peter, instead his gaze went into the distance, towards the lake, but he didn’t seem to mind Peter staring at him, and so the latter watched, wide-eyed, as the older man began to sketch the sunrise over the trees surrounding the lake.  
It was weirdly soothing, watching Steve draw, listening to the sound the pencil made on the paper. A little awkward as well. Peter realized he had barely ever seen Steve out of his uniform – hell, even without his helmet. He was wearing sweatpants and a plain t-shirt now, his hair very slightly damp, indicating he had been in the shower or out for a swim shortly before. It was weird, but also strangely reassuring for some reason.  
Peter’s thoughts trailed off. He thought of Liz who also always had a pencil at hand wherever she went. Then he thought of MJ, wondered whatever she would usually have ready in her bag, and couldn’t help but smile a little. Then the memories hit him, of what had happened, and wiped the smile right off his face. He had no idea where both Liz and MJ were right now – fuck, he didn’t even know what had happened to Ned. Had they vanished for five years like he had and just come back barely two days ago to an entirely different world? Had they not? Were they now in their twenties, leading a completely different life? Was it possible they could have vanished and _not_ returned…?

Peter could feel his eyes get wet again; he hastily blinked and pushed his thoughts aside. “I… I didn’t know you could draw that well,” he said awkwardly, giving in to the sudden urge to break the silence.  
Steve’s lips curled into a smile. “I had plenty of time to practice lately,” he replied without taking his eyes off the sketch pad. “I drew a lot when I was a kid. Then I, uh…” He paused for a second. “… joined the Army. Didn’t get a lot of time for drawing after that.”  
Peter gave a little snort. “Yeah, I bet,” he muttered.  
Looking back up he noticed that Steve’s eyes were on him again, watching him attentively. After a moment of silence Cap carefully closed the drawing pad. “You wanna talk about it, kid?” he asked softly.  
Peter felt his throat close up at the question. Did he want to talk about it? He honestly didn’t know. Up until now he hadn’t really felt like it. But now, after a few seconds, under the inquiring but not pushing look from Captain America’s eyes, the words began to tumble out of his mouth almost on their own.  
“I just… I don’t… it’s all so confusing.” His voice was quiet, not much more than a whisper. “Being away for five years without even knowing it, and then immediately there’s this huge fight again, and then M–“ His voice broke off and he had to collect himself for a second before he could continue. “Mr. Stark is just… gone,” he croaked. “And I just… I’m so lost, Captain Rogers, Sir. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do right now.”

(He was so young, Steve thought, and his heart broke a little more than it already had. A lost child, left to deal with things even grown adults should never even have had to experience.)

Steve took a deep breath. “Honestly? Neither do I.”  
Peter stared at him, wide-eyed, almost begging him silently. “You’re Captain America,” he burst out. “You’re… supposed to tell everyone what they should do…” He quickly pressed his lips together as Steve’s face hardened for a split second.  
“I don’t think I’m going to tell anyone what to do any time soon.”  
Peter wanted to get angry, he thought. Maybe shouting at someone, be it Captain America, would make that horrible weight that seemed to press down on his chest go away. But it was hard, it was so hard, when everything that seemed to be left inside him is just pain and tears and being _awfully_ tired. And he wasn’t very good at getting angry anyway.  
Especially not when Steve started talking again, in a softer voice than he’d ever heard from him: “Listen, Peter. We’re all lost right now. There’s nobody really that can tell you what to do next, because there’s nobody who knows for sure. I’m hanging in thin air, too. But that doesn’t mean you have to figure it out on your own.” He was looking at Peter with an indefinite expression on his face, but his blue eyes were soft and honest. “You’re not alone in this.”  
Peter took a long and shaky breath that half turned into a sob. He could feel his eyes water up again, but this time he didn’t turn away his face; instead he returned the look. Was it embarrassing to start crying in front of Captain America? Maybe. But after a few seconds Steve reached out and gently put his arm around Peter’s shoulders, and Peter buried his face in Steve’s chest, allowing the tears to roll down his cheeks. “I just really, really miss him,” he whispered eventually, and he felt Steve sigh and rest his chin on Peter’s head.  
“Yeah, I know. Me too, kid.”

They sat for quite a while before Peter straightened up again and looked at Steve sheepishly. “I guess I kinda got your shirt wet, Sir.”  
The smile that brightened Steve’s face didn’t entirely hide the fact that there was a wet glint in his own eyes. “Yeah… I promise I won’t tell anybody, as long as you drop the ‘Sir’.” He frowned. “Actually, you know what, drop the ‘Captain’ as well. I think I’ve had enough of that for quite a while.”  
Carefully Peter returned the smile. “I’ll try, S– uh, I mean… Mr. Rogers.” He hesitated, then gave a curious little nod towards the sketch pad. “Are you… uh, are you going to finish that drawing?”  
Steve chuckled quietly. “I guess so. I’m not exactly dying to go back down to the others yet… if you’ll tolerate me for a little longer up here.”  
Peter grinned and nodded. He wrapped his arms around his knees, put his head on them and watched as the sun continued to rise and Steve finished up his drawing. It didn’t make the pain go away, and Peter knew that Steve knew it didn’t. But for the moment – and for the first time in what felt like an eternity – it had calmed him down enough that he could think about sleeping.  
And that was worth something, at least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a LOT of feelings about these two, like, right now I could just non-stop write about them. I really hope I did both of them justice. (Also I ship Steve and drawing pads since Cap 1 and usually feel the need to mention it at least once a fic.) (Also also, Peter Parker getting hugged. Right?) (Also also also. Thoughts on Steve's ending? Opinions on going back in time? Idk yet if this is gonna be something I want to tackle in this fic, but... meh.)


End file.
